


Duran Duran's Arena:  A Different Version

by Lisasiuying



Category: Duran Duran, Duran Duran (Music Videos)
Genre: Language, Some Non-Graphic Violence, Subject matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 14,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisasiuying/pseuds/Lisasiuying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I discovered Duran Duran's Arena video some time in August or September of 2015.  After watching the entire "movie," I was very disappointed with its ending as a vigilante group composed of audience members saved the day.  A few weeks later, alternate scenes and endings began playing like mental reels in my head.  What follows in my fanfiction is a recount of the mental reels (plus editorialized revisions and selected actual scenes from (1) Arena: An Absurd Notion and (2) Wild Boys).  My fanfiction, Arena: A Different Version, is told from multiple points-of-view (the five band members, the villain, even the stage manager, and a fan).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Drummer

**Author's Note:**

> For readers who are unfamiliar with Arena: An Absurd Notion, it's a musical video comprised of part-concert and part-reel of a show in Oakland, California in 1984. Dr. Durand Durand, the evil villain who had been banished and imprisoned at the end of Barbarella, hears his name chanted repeatedly and enthusiastically. Misinterpreting the chants as coming from a new breed of fanatic followers, Dr. Durand treks to Earth to establish his new legion. To his disappointment and dismay, the chanters turn out to be adolescent teeny-boppers of the 1980s band. Furious, he wrecks havoc at the concert.

"Ow, my face," I mumbled as I pushed up to a sitting position. I must have smacked it against the brick floor when I fell. I rubbed the side of my face to check for bleeding. Negative. Dark gray haze enveloped me in a stadium-sized warehouse, cluttered with a floating hot-air balloon, figureheads, and a windmill. A decaying stench invaded my nostrils as if the place housed years of decomposed human remains.

"Charlie?" My own voice echoed in reply.

"JT?" 

"Tee, tee, tee?"

"Andy?"

"Ndy, ndy, ndy?"

"Nick?"

"Nick, Nick, Nick?

"Hey, where are you guys?" 

"Guys, guys, guys?

I looked up to no sign of a door panel that had opened to drop me here. Where had I fallen into? Monstrous sibilants reverberated around me. They sounded creepy, really. I felt as if I had fallen into some underground Halloween horror, only this one was real. I shuddered. I didn't do Halloween horrors, not even for fun. Never liked them, never would. JT, Andy, Charlie, maybe even Nick: they're the ones who liked a good Halloween party. Heck, I didn't even like to pass out candies to trick-or-treaters. Too many people around. Just leave me be with my family and my music.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice now. I felt alone and abandoned. Normally I didn't mind being my myself (I actually prefer it.), but this time it was different. I could use some company now.

I managed to make out a scaffold on one side of the room, a construction skeleton behind that, and a white billowing sail whooshing on the top rung.

Behind me were hanging cages. With a start, I jumped and skidded several steps back. Men in loincloths gyrated around one cage, hissing like the lizard monster Captain Kirk battled in that classic Star Trek episode. A pitchfork tongue rattled out of their dropped jaws with each hiss. Their skins lubed with slimy albino films, and they sported large bird feathers as headpieces on their bald heads.

One of the creature-men turned to look at me, rolling his head in such a sensual way that I felt sick. The creature whizzed towards me.


	2. The Synthesizer Keyboardist (Three Hours Earlier)

"Places!" announced our bespectacled stage manager Fred Kragen. Drummer Roger Taylor and I shuffled behind our instruments; he behind his drum kits to my right and me on the keyboard. Lead singer Simon LeBon (or Charlie as we call him) stood about 3 metres in front of me, with electric guitarist Andy Taylor next to him, and bass guitarist John Taylor just outside the west wing. (The three Taylors are not related.) Fred walked center stage, his back to the curtains. He grinned quickly but with a stiff shoulder to indicate his nervousness and excitement. He gestured a thumb's up, fingered to three and pointed to us.

"Please, please tell me now," Andy and Simon began a cappella, as Fred dodged quietly. Andy had his arm around Simon in a buddy embrace. Roger began his drum solo as the curtain rose, and the boys sang the words a second time. Then it was my turn to come in with my synthesizer for the third refrain. After singing the refrain the fourth time, John shot out from the west wing. He, along with Andy and Simon ran wildly around the stage before taking their places on stage: Andy on stage right in front of me, Simon at front and center, and John on stage left.

"I make my break, I run out yesterday," belted Simon as he jogged around the proscenium. "Trying to find my mountain hideaway." He fired to the right.

Great start so far. My keyboard sounded sharp. Andy's guitar was in tune with my notes. The bass and the drum synchronized. Right on cue, Simon sang, "Maybe next year, maybe no go."

I glanced at the ceiling lights. All of the bulbs were on as they lined up each side in a half-arc. Kevin, our lighting director, looked at me from behind the light console 20 meters above, and I smiled and nodded my head to show him that I was well pleased indeed.

"And I cut so far before I had to say," Simon enunciated. I then noticed that John dropped his jaw in alarm at something he saw out in the audience. What was happening? Was a lighting fixture about to fall or something? ? I scanned the house but saw the lights as they should be. I looked at Kevin whose eyes were focused on his console.

Hoisting his knees into a trot-like march, Simon continued, "Is there something I should know?"

"Come on. This way," a voice muffled from behind the amplifiers, followed by the pounding of footsteps. I turned but saw no one. Anger rose from my toes to my head. Who was back there and what were they doing? That was so unprofessional! Didn't they know their presence could be seen in the audience? What if they stumbled and interfered with the show with their raucous clamour? I must have a little chat with the stage crew later. They were all adults; why were they acting like children? The should have known better than to--

A screaming girl interrupted my thoughts. I turned to the direction of the scream to witness a fair hair teenager shooting into the air as if she were a bullet from a gun fired upward at the start of the New Year in the States.

Andy and I shot a look. I rolled my eyes. "Kids," I muttered. In spite of myself, I chuckled.


	3. The Lead Singer

I focused on tuning out John's and Andy's repeated "please, please tell me now" as I sang the closing refrain: "What does it take to make it show?" I finished off the last few questions in a descendo.

All music stopped. I counted to ten. Then a girl's teasing laugh spewed from Nick's keyboard. A guitar riff followed, and I began, "Darken the city, night is a wire. Steam in the subway, earth is a fire."

Great! My voice was going strong, but it did have a tendency to crack while I was live. Funny that people still say I have a ice voice. On my way to the arena earlier today, I stopped by a coffee shop. Their piping hot Columbian Roast has always done a great job at lubricating my throat so that it wouldn't crack. I downed a Budweiser before going onstage. After the coffee, I needed something to calm the hyperactive kangaroo inside of me.

Finally, we came to the end of the second chorus. Roger hit a drumbeat, Andy played a squeal, and Nick switched another lever to bring forth the sound of a woman rapidly breathing in sexual excitement. The interlude was introduced. I darted behind the Grecian pillars and--wait, what happened? Where was I? All of a sudden, I was in the Twilight Zone. Gone were the linoleum floor and the black curtains that demarcated the backstage. In its place was the outdoor jungle as flies buzzed around me. A woman slinked and prowled on all fours from behind vines that had been stage right. She had no attire but was clothed entirely in tiger stripes over a light beige spandex fur. Even her boobs were covered with the same coat.

A roar behind startled me. I whipped around and saw another feral tiger-woman crawling towards me. She crept forth like a predator slowly teasing a prey before the attack.

"There is no escape," echoed a diabolical voice above me before a real tiger charged at me. I hightailed it to the proscenium where everything was normal again. I welcomed the familiar excited hoots from the audience. I looked at Roger who was banging his drums as if he had been there all along.

"What?" Roger mouthed as he continued playing, perplexed. I blinked and shook my head. I shrugged my shoulders. "Burning the ground, I break from the crowd." I continued with the next stanza as I ran towards the apron. After all, the show must go on.

I looked at the pillar that now stood behind Roger's drum kit. "Mouth is alive; juice is like wine; and I'm hungry like the wolf."


	4. The Bassist (Intermission)

"Woot!" I shouted. I victoriously threw my fist in the air as we made our way backstage. That was fun! 

"Bloody hell, who changed the scene on me?" Simon called just as I stepped behind the curtains and was handed a towel by a cute redhead.

"What scene?" she asked Simon as soon as the towel left her fingertips. I winked at her, which she responded with a shy smile, and I handed her my guitar. She followed Simon as he went on about some make-believe world he entered during our "Hungry like the Wolf" number.

I wiped the sweat off my face and neck as I made my way to the green room. "Quit it with the tall tale, Charlie," I called out to him.

"It's not," he called back before turning his attention on the redhead to continue his fiction.

Nick was stuck on a tale of his own, too. "You are not schoolchildren," he scolded in his quietly proper way. "That was very unprofessional and immature of you to be playing tag behind the amplifier."

"We weren't playing tag, Nick," the strawberry-blond prop attendant denied.

"It's also uncool to lie," Nick insisted condescendingly. "I heard you."

"Maybe you're hearing things," Andy jested, after puffing out a cigarette.

"Butt out," he yelled at Andy.

I pulled a can of Heineken out of the ice chest as I declared, "I'm outta here." I stepped out into the hall to chill. I took a swig and hummed the chorus to "Save A Prayer". Leaning against the water cooler, I took another drink. That was when I saw her: a beautiful tanned teenager, about 16 or 17 years old, waiting for someone outside the director's door. She carried herself unassumingly in her tannish-beige pullover jumper and white jeans that highlighted her figure. The girl sported a dark brown curlicue perm that fell just below her ears.

She would be fun to hang out with after the show. Demure, conservative--it'll be fun loosening her up over a Michelob--make that a Lite as she gotta be watching her figure--, and maybe even get on the dance floor with her. After that, she could spend the night in my room.

I hated sleeping alone, always had. I suppose it came from being an only child. There were my mum and dad, but no one near my age really.

"Hi," I called out, flashing the most charming smile I could muster.

Suddenly, I jumped and turned a 180. A man, about Nick's height, with peppery, off-black hair and maniacal bespectacled eyes grinned at me, my guitar in his hand.

"Shit, Fred. You scared the crap out of me." I exclaimed as I settled the guitar down my shoulder.

I turned my attention back to the girl, and--wait, where did she go? She was just standing there. She couldn't have gone into the office because there was no light that I could see from the crack under the door. My forearm constricted and my body involuntarily was pulled behind the wall.

"Wait a minute," I protested, throwing my arm back. I leaned back for a second look down the hall. Empty. That was strange. I could have sworn there was a girl there. "Am I going mad?" I muttered.

Fred's hand slapped the back of my head and shoved it forward, compelling my legs to follow. "Mad," Fred dismissed with a crazed laugh.

My heart skipped a beat. I noticed Fred's eyes have enlarged like that of a demented wild man in the woods. "Fred, you're being weird," I said slowly and cautiously.

"Not weird at all, my friend. Just need to get you back to the stage. The show's about to start again."

Roger was at the entrance of the east wing when I showed up. He rubbed his hands and wiped them down the side of his trousers. Then, he clasped them and leaned his head back, as if he was praying before the show started again. 

I slapped his shoulder. "You got this, Rodge."

He turned to me and nodded, his face still expressing stage fright.

"Hey, did you see that girl?" I asked, hoping to distract him from his nervousness.

"What girl?" he asked.

"The one standing outside the administrative office," I answered.

"Was she a looker?" He grinned, his face having relaxed.

I smiled back as I visualised her. "Yes, yes she was."

A shove propelled me forward. I turned my head. From peripheral vision, I saw Roger stumble and look behind him. Roger and I exchanged looks as we made our way to the proscenium.

What did we ever do to Fred?


	5. The Maniacal Villain

"Congratulations!" he typed on his computer. "You have won a chance meet and greet backstage with Duran Duran! Please go to the usher and ask for Fred Kragen."

He rubbed his hands excitedly as the printer buzzed out a dot matrix copy. "Hey!" he called to one of his minions as he ripped the print off the perforation. "Take this to the house and give it to any random pretty girl, preferably one by herself."

The 92-metric minion took the paper and replied with a mechanical mumble.

"Just do it!" the villain bellowed.

He returned his gaze to the computer screen to make sure the minion didn't mess things up. Yes, if you wanted something done right, you gotta do it yourself--and he would have, too, if it weren't for these stupid stilts he had.

He pinched his cheeks in and squinted in resentment as he remembered that day in his last battle with that astronaut. Gone was the use of his legs. Gone was his mission: to make everyone love and adore him. Gone was his life as he laid at the bottom for ten thousand years. And it was all that bitch's fault. Why did she have to destroy his machine?

He might have still been in that pit had he not discover those feral mutants, the ones oozing sexual energies out of their pores, the one he had to dominate in order to survive. He soon learned to give them enough to passionately feast on, and they would be happy. In return, they would be residents of his lion's den.

Oh look, they got a girl. She had a tanned complexion and sported a perm that fell down her ears. She wore a light brown pullover sweater and white jeans tucked into soft furry boots. She opened the envelope and grinned excitedly at what she read. She leaned to whisper the supposed good news to her party before heading towards the back of house. And there was Fred. Right on time. He met the girl and escorted her backstage.

Dr. D laughed. His evil plot was coming along well. "Say your prayers, little one. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

He powered up a humongous machine that sucked in air like a ginormous vacuum cleaner. Click, click, click went the keyboard strokes as he programmed the contraption to aim its gulping tube outside the administrative office where he would capture her. He gazed at the computer screen. Fred should be on his way to taking her there. Ah yes, there she was. She turned her head to find Fred gesturing her to wait outside the office.

"Don't you worry, my dear," he talked to the screen. "Those imposters will come rescue you--if they survive! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"


	6. The Drummer (After Intermission)

That JT, man, always getting the girls. I wish I was more like him: comfortable in his own skin, unafraid of asking a girl out. Me? I stammer and trip over my own tongue. Girls then look at me as if I was a cute little puppy, not a man who's dating material.

Our stage manager rushed past me. He looked at John and me with a thumb's up to ask if we were ready. We both nodded. Smiled as if pleased, Fred dodged to the other side of the stage.

Fred pressed a finger on his earpiece. Then wham! A hard shove on my shoulder and I stumbled forward, lucky to have regained my footing. Otherwise, it would have been really embarrassing if I had fallen on my face in front of millions of people. I rubbed the back of my shoulder blade, still stinging with the shove. I looked back at the man now sporting a grin. Geez, Fred, what was up with that slap?

I climbed aboard my kit and waited for the cue from Andy's guitar to start my part. Soon after my drum introduction, John and Andy bounced their way towards Nick and climbed up his platform. Simon fireballed across the apron. 

John and Nick were goofing off while playing. Nick leaned to whisper into John's ear, which the bassist mischievously responded with a bonk on Nick's head with the guitar before hopping off after Andy to come downstage.

As Simon sang, "There's no sign of life," John and Andy sidestepped stage right. John crashed into Simon and sunk his head on Simon's shoulder to guffaw in embarrassment at the blunder. The trained thespian that he was, Simon merely grinned briefly and continued as if normal. 

Soon after the first line of the chorus, I heard a girl's shrill howl that resonated as if from miles away. Simon must have heard it, too; I saw his exuberant jumps slow to hobbles. Of course, a typical scream from the audience shouldn't have phased us; after all, we have been hearing them 24-7. But this was no ordinary scream. The girl didn't even sound thrilled or excited; in fact, she yelped as if in pain--and it resonated louder than our typical teenybopper hoots.

As Simon neared the end of the chorus, a blue bolt zipped towards the west wing. Above it floated yellow flames.

I looked at Andy and John, but they didn't seem to notice. How could they not have noticed? The spectacle was right in front of them above the mezzanine. 

I looked at Nick, but his eyes were glued to his keyboard. Really Nick? Even you, a stickler for perfection, a scout against anything amiss?

I looked at Simon. Oh never mind. Simon was busy spinning like a runaway top across the stage.

Simon finally got to "this is planet earth" when another scream, this one horrific, echoed. I looked into the audience and was stunned to see a yellow sheet of light levitating a thin teenage boy. John's jaw dropped at the horror, while Andy slowed his sways at the sight.

Andy caught the eyes of a security guard and signaled him of the mayhem. As he did so, Simon and John clapped their hands over their heads to rouse the audience to join them. Andy turned to me and tilted his head to point at the phenomenon. I nodded to convey that I knew. Boy, did I know--although I wish I didn't.

Andy gestured to John to join him stage right, which he trotted towards ridiculously. Andy kicked at the air upon John's arrival, and the two played dueling guitars and flirted with the audience. Andy pointed his finger at the audience and shouted "Look out!" I looked as a bolt swooshed past a fair guy's head as I drummed the final beats.

After that unusual number, I looked at Nick to see what happens next. Nick pressed buttons and levers to unleash the sound of cameras clicking. I sighed as I tapped with my drumsticks to begin "Girls on Film". However, halfway through the song, I noticed my scapulas aching. I must have tightened my shoulders while playing. I rotated the cuffs to loosen the strain on my shoulders. Ok, try to relax. I inhaled deeply and blew out the tension.

Next came "Careless Memories". Glad that came off without a hitch, too. I couldn't wait until we debrief after our encore. (Should there even be an encore?) Tonight was one weird show.


	7. The Maniacal Villain

"You've gone too far this time," sang the front man.

"Gone too far?" I responded after doing a double take from inside this makeshift office, if you can call it that. After all, it was no bigger than a telephone booth. "You see, my kind sirs, I'm just getting started." I turned one knob clockwise with my right hand, the other one counter-clockwise with my left.

"...with my chances on the danger line," continued the singer.

My lips curled in revulsion. "Danger, danger," I said in mocking derision. "I'll give you danger." I smashed my fist down on a button. "Begin countdown!" 

A deep robotic voice echoed from the speaker: "10, 9, 8,..." I saw the digits flash on screen, over those imposters' faces. "7, 6,..." I set my fingers steadily over the red knob.."5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

"Execute!" I declared, my fist thrusted upward.

I grinned in delight as a boxed metal roared to life on screen, its internal engine humming like the start of the washer. My smile broadened after seeing a silver steel rod rising from the top right corner of the box, with its tip opening to reveal a satellite. Click! The satellite disconnected and took to the air.

"The nerve of those five," I turned to my 90-centimetered minion who mumbled onamatopoetically in response. "Mere babies when I ruled in my prime. Who did they think they were, taking my name? Want my Social Security Number, too?" 

"Uh-uh," cooed the minion. 

My fist tightened. "No one takes my identity," I bellowed as I pounded the desk. The minion's mumbled got louder and more excited. "I will not let them!" 

To my delight, the minion pointed to the satellite on my computer screen as the instrument made its way out the compound to the floor above me. I rubbed my hands in maniacal glee as I watched the satellite traverse the halls, pass the bulletin boards, and soar past the box office.

Green and orange lights pulsated from atop the satellite, beeping in tune with the color alterations. The satellite entered an open-door vent to the sound booth. 

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I fell forward in roaring laughter, relishing in the band members' reactions to the loud screeches that were excruciatingly apparent on stage and house, but inaudible to the audio technician in the sound booth.


	8. The Band

Simon grabbed his ears to minimize the excruciating painful screech that had invaded the stage. He saw John falter to the ground, while Andy batted the microphone stand with his guitar and Nick fumbled with various amplifier knobs in vain attempts to stop the torture. In frustration, Nick yanked out the power cord. A thunderous collapse of drums and cymbals clamored. Nick and Andy glared at Roger who shrugged. John managed to rise in time to catch a moustached giant on the screen behind Roger.

"Don't listen to them," the giant roared. "I am the real Durand Durand!" Yellow volts sparked from the back of house and attacked Simon's torso. A second spark knocked John to the ground. A third spark shot towards Andy. He ducked, causing the volt to sail towards Nick who reverberated it with his compact mirror. Roger volleyed other rounds of electricity with the stick bag he quickly grabbed. 

"What the hell!" Simon demanded upon rising.

"Give me back my name!" came the roar. 

"Name?" John asked as he hoisted himself up. "What name?"

"Durand Durand!" he thundered, his voice reverberating. 

"A bit insecure, are we not?" Andy replied. 

"That's Dr. Durand to you," he announced, his finger pointing at Andy.

With fist raised, Andy opened his mouth to reply when a terrified female shriek came from below the stage. He and his bandmates turned in the direction of the scream.

"Would you like to help the young lass?" The giant's eyes beamed. "Wait! Here is a short cut." The tiles opened up beneath the boys' feet, causing all five to fall through.


	9. The Drummer (Back to the Warehouse)

Where was I? What were these creatures before me? Determining that they were too swift for me to outrun, I quickly looked around for a weapon. There, leaning to the side of a building skeleton was a metal rod, about a meter long. I grabbed it and positioned it over my shoulder as if I was wielding a baseball bat.

"Haaaaaaaaaw," one of the creatures snarled as it leapt on me. I batted its head only to find myself in a tug-of-war with another over the rod. With a rough yank, the rod slipped through my hands. A fierce pain stabbed my stomach and I lurched over. My knees hit the floor, and I crouched over with my eyes shut tight in excruciating pain.

I looked up in time to see the rod raised over the creature's head. I fell on my side to avoid the rod coming onto my head. I rolled over to avoid another strike. 

The creature and I continued this dance until the palm of my hand slapped an industrial cylinder, sending aches of pain through my fingers. I shook the pain away and discovered the culprit to be a handlebar, its middle curved at a 90-degree angle. At the end of the handlebar lay a button, like the button on my Toyota hand brake. On the floor lay another identical handlebar, parallel to the first handlebar I encountered. Both handlebars connected to a jet pack. 

Racing against the creatures' attacks, I heaved the handlebars upright. I jumped on the seat in front of the jet pack and pushed the buttons down with my thumbs. The jet packs roared to life with a whooshing sound as my feet lifted off the ground. My right ankle constricted as the engine sputtered and my leg pulled towards the ground. I looked down to see a chicken claw wrapped around my ankle. Grabbing onto the handlebars even more tightly, I kicked against the grip as I steered the jet pack over a railing where I knocked the creature off. A second creature jumped but missed my other leg. A roaring hiss reverberated as I drove the jet pack over a scaffolding.

Must find the others and get out of this dungeon.


	10. The Stage Manager

The screech was unbearable but according to plan. I punched the button on my radio and yelled at our audio technician, so no one would suspect me as an accomplice, "Todd! What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

I didn't expect that answer. "What do you mean what do I mean? Fix that loud racket!"

"What loud racket?"

"Are you deaf--or perhaps daft?"

Todd sounded stressed and defensive. "Everything is going fine here. I don't know what the band members are reacting to. Honest to god I don't."

"Find the source of the clamor and stop it," I roared.

"I. Don't. Hear. Any. Clamor!" Todd's words oozed in between the spaces of his clenched teeth.

"ASK YOUR TEAM!" I bellowed. "I can't believe you're so stupid. What did I hire you for? Lead the sound team!"

A metal crash jerked my attention to the proscenium. I looked up to the drummer's instruments now lying as a pile of rubble on the floor. Gotta hand it to Dr. D, he sure knew how to creatively rig a concert. Now all I have to do is play it cool and be the stressed stage manager people expect me to be in a situation like this.

"Oh shit! Oh shit!" I faked. "Video come in. Terri Michelle, what's going on?"

"I just called security, sir," came the voice of the curly-haired redhead. "Apparently, we have an intruder who intercepted video."

"Security!" I radioed. "Officer James, report."

"Checking camera footage and sign-ins," said the fifty-year-old Officer James. "No unauthorized entrances sited."

That's because I let him in, you nitwit, but you're never going to determine that. Of course, I didn't tell that giant Baby Huey of a man. Instead I ordered, "Find him and have him arrested."

Horrified screams, predominantly of teen girls, radiated throughout the house. I looked at the stage to find it empty of those pretty pop English boys. I smiled in triumph. The plan was coming along splendidly. I gleamed, for the capture was successful.

"Officer Bentley James," I radioed to keep up the facade.

"I'm on it, sir," he said hurriedly.

I sat back and removed my earpiece. I smiled smugly. I've kept my part of the bargain. Now it's up to Dr. D and the Wild Boys to rid the home wreckers, so I could have my wife back. She had been ogling the Fab Five long enough.

I rose, reinserted the earpiece, and set about closing the show.


	11. The Bassist

A presence just centimeters from my face broke me out of sleep. I gasped upon opening my eyes to a monstrous grin. Small isosceles teeth greeted me on a slimy, bald, humanoid face with a Y-shaped protrusion from the nose to the eyebrows.

I tensed both fists and lifted my wrists--or tried to unsuccessfully. I turned to look and sunk my shoulder in dismay at finding my wrists strapped taut and spread away from my body in a crucified position. Alarm surged, causing my heart to race at fantastic speed.

"What is this?" My voice quivered. I cleared my throat inconspicuously. I didn't want it to see that I was pretty freaked out. No need to give my enemy more power. "Who are you?"

"Guys?" I called out to my band mates. My heart sank after only hearing my echoed voice. I was on my own. 

I flexed my fingers along the sides perpendicular to the board and stroked a rubber strip over a smooth glass. Was I on top of a car?

The creature tilted its head in a downward arc as it stared at me. I tensed in discomfort.

"Release me!" I exclaimed, pushing forth a louder volume to sound demanding and unafraid.

The creature's eyelids closed slightly. It inched towards me.

"Get away from me," I exclaimed, flattening against the car. I jerked my leg to kick and moaned in dismay. My ankles were also bound.

Suddenly, I was furious. I threw my weight against the binds. "Ahhhhhhhhhh!" I screamed.

The creature threw its head back, laughing as if it was delighted with my rage.

"Fuck you!" I hollered. "Nick? Charlie?" I turned to the being before me. "Where the hell are they?"

It responded with staccato sibilants.

"Andy? Roger?" Shit, Roger. He had already been savagely beaten at a bar after one of our shows in Germany two years ago. He, especially, did not deserve another attack. I thrusted against the binds, enraged. "Ahhhhhhhh, I want outta here," I bellowed.

The alien being drew up his chicken claw and seized my jaw.


	12. The Electric Guitarist

I shook my head to clear away the fog that had filled my mind. My abs ached as if my torso slapped the ground so hard that the impact pushed my stomach inward.

"Hey!" I yelped before I could rub the pain away. Both of my forearms constricted and forcibly soared. My feet dangled off the floor before touching the pavement.

I looked up to see albinos with feathers on top of their heads, their claws tightened around my biceps. I writhed within the grips. "Let me go!"

One albino slapped me on the shoulder and shoved me forward.

I threw my shoulder forward and managed to loosen the grip on my left arm. I swung my right arm and freed it. I punched and dashed.

Four other albinos tackled me.

"Ow!" I screamed as they yanked my hair. My neck roughly jerked back. A violent lift forced me on my feet, followed by brutal shaking and shoving. Grips cut off circulation in my forearms.

I twisted within the grasps. "What do you want?" I was shoved again.

"Stop!" I continued to twist as the wild boys jostled me. Against my will, I walked down a boardwalk that separated one lagoon from another. Fiery geysers startled me whenever they burst from the ground.

I crossed a t-intersection to a mosaic walkway that had strobe lights on both sides. I passed a lagoon that housed a windmill, the tip of one of the blades dipping deeper and deeper into the water with each rotation. Straps and seat belts offered the blade's finishing touches.

Fins sailed across the next lagoon. Suddenly, a creature, half-piranha and half-beluga, leapt up with a roar. I jumped back, only to land on a wild boy's foot. He thrusted me.

The creatures brought me to a statue that looked to be used as a ship's figurehead, elevated about 300 meters. Steel rods of different sizes littered off to the side, about 150 metres away. A caged lift behind the statue descended more wild boys. The door swooshed to reveal straps and harnesses rolled over their shoulders. One was even holding my guitar.

"Hey, that's mine!" I exclaimed as I reached out to take it. I writhed ever more vehemently as more grabbed me. Kicking did me no good. They pinned me to the figurehead. Unfurling straps and harnesses, they wrapped the binds around me, climbing up the bars of the lift as needed to secure my upper torso. The guitar holder then put the strap over my head as if it was a Hawaiian lei so that the instrument hung over my chest.

"Shrum," hissed one of them.

Oh, I "shrummed" all right--the handle straight to his ulna. I swung my guitar again at the beast when the sound of chains sliding along the pavement interrupted me. A wild boy twisted my arms behind me. I writhed against the grip. The chains neared. Click, locks secured the chains on my wrists; click, more locks fastened the binds at my ankles. I struggled against the contraption. Click, a third lock buckled the ends of the chains around my middle.

I saw the wild boys take several steps away, only to start gyrating their hips in an exotic dance. I shuddered and writhed, remembering childhood stories of tribal cannibals dancing before they killed their prey.


	13. The Synthesizer Keyboardist (meanwhile, on the far end of the warehouse)

This is most foul, this stench. Ugh, who died in here? I looked up in alarm at the thought. Here I was caged in some darkened room with fiery geysers shooting up around me.

Sibilant whispers hissed from behind me. I slowly turned to see a feathered head looming besides me. I backed away only to be greeted by the hot breath of another man-creature. I ducked to miss a snakelike tongue slithering towards my face. I felt a poke on the small of my back. I turned and noticed a paperweight dropping into my pocket. I reached into my pocket and noticed a pleading eye of one of the captors. This one captor had breasts like a woman and a curvier torso than the rest. A female creature? She slightly turned her head left and right as if trying to tell me not to take the object out of my pocket. She looked fearfully behind me before scurrying off.

I slid my hand out of the pocket and was met with a blow on the back of my neck that buckled my knees.

"What the hell?" I asked the captor behind me as I rubbed the pain away upon rising.

"I Chaz." The captor laughed like a jokester who had just successfully pulled off a dirty trick. It scampered away, leaving me alone. The rest of its team followed.

Once alone, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a metal disc with disorganised webs in its interior. What was this? I put the apparatus by my ears. Good, it wasn't a ticking time bomb. I shook the hardware. Thin metallic rods rattled inside. I slid the object under my nose. It smelt like the rusting metal of old chains. I studied the device for levers and openings.

Gadgets, gears: how was I supposed to make sense out of these? Ask me anything about Moliere or Rembrandt, and I'd have an answer for you. Spokes, devices: nothing.

I felt intense stares and looked up to see the captors had returned. I quickly dropped the disc in my pocket. I squirmed as their gawking eyes studied me. Incomprehensible hisses were all I understood.

"Who are you?" I asked.

More hisses.

"Man, I need a translator," I mumbled. "Does anybody here speak English?"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I froze at the interruption. Two kilometres away stood the bottom side of the car, its rear bumper sitting upright. The frustrated wail came from behind that car.

"John!" I shouted across the warehouse. "Are you okay?" 

A clobbering bump replied.

"What are they doing to him?" I demanded of the men-creatures.

More hisses, this time with tones of an angry assault. The creatures hissed at me like evil gremlins bragging about its malevolent intentions.

The thump behind the car repeated every minute or so. 

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!!!!!!" I yelled at whoever was with my lifelong friend.

More thumping.

"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHN!!!!!!!!!"


	14. The Bassist

I turned my head to a sadistic grin. The figure loomed towards me. I flattened against the roof of the car. I rolled my head away from the insidious claws. "Don't touch me," I warned, faking courage in my voice. Scaly fingers brushed across my cheek. The creature stared at me as if examining a specimen. He tilted his head and eyed my crotch. I squirmed in discomfort. A pitchfork tongue shot out, its tip missing my face. Disgusted, I looked away.

The creature's lips laid 15 metres from my mouth. I spat at the wild boy's face. The feather-clad monster, raised its hand, fingers flexed to slap.

I tensed, my eyes automatically closed and head turned to the side as I awaited for the strike. A slap boomed but I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to see another one of their kind, this one with a slight vertical wrinkle in between his eyebrows. He stood about a head taller than my captor. The slap came from his chicken-feet hands' on my captor's shoulder. I suppose I had him to thank for stopping the attack.

"Sssssssszzzzzzhzhzhzh," said the older wild boy, having grabbed the assailant's arm. This one looked like the sage of the lot.

"Zzzzhzhzhzh sssssshshshshsh haaaa, sssssss," protested my captor. The younger wild boy jerked his hand violently to free himself from the sage's grip.

"Sehhhh zzzzzzzzah," answered the elder. He walked over and stared me down. He turned to the younger wild boy. "Sssszzzzzshshshshsh." It was then I noticed a remote in his hand. He aimed it at the telly in front of me and switched it on.

"CARS! GIRLS!" pulsated on screen. "You love on them, and we love on you" rolled horizontally by.

What terrible grammar!

Sssssss haaaaaaaaaaa," the older guy answered as he grinned.

I watched in horror as a wild boy came by on screen, tore my legs apart, and dove in. Then my baby picture smiled back at me. 

My captor jumped up and down and clapped excitedly, laughing in delight.

The wild boys left.

Words moved across the screen: "You are chosen, O Most Attractive One. Prepare to orgasm."

"Shit!" I whispered. That was their plan for me! I thrust my arms against the chain.

My three-year-old self appeared, ball in hand and sporting a delightful grin. Snapshots flashed of me at around sixteen, decked in tinted glasses in black plastic frames. The series ended with cover shots of me in Duran Duran.

I threw my weight into breaking free, followed by banging my head on the car with each ferocious writhe. The metal ovals dug into my wrist. I was going to feel that bruise later--that is if I got out. NO! I will get out. I had to.


	15. The Electric Guitarist

Hung up on a flying harness, I twisted at the chains cutting my thighs. I raised my knees, but the chains refused to release their grips on my ankles. I writhed against the chains squeezing into my torso. I winced as the chains dug into my wrists. Ignoring the pain, I wriggled my wrists ever so slowly until I managed to slide both hands out. I yanked at the lock, pulling it down with all my might. I froze as the creatures stopped their dancing and raced towards me. I stiffened as my body prepared for a defensive move. 

I reached for my guitar as the first creature arrived. With one hand on the guitar's neck and the other one on the guitar's body, I swung at the creature. The assailant fell. I jabbed the next one, and he doubled over in pain. I whacked the head of the third one, and he collapsed. I batted the fourth one, but this assailant grabbed my guitar. I tugged at it, struggling to regain control of the guitar. I elbowed the creature's face, thrusting its hideous head back. I slapped the creature's head until he fell. Another charged me. I batted his head as if it were a baseball, and he fell. I went on like this for twenty more rounds.

I could use a breather after that, but the creatures were not letting up. And so, I must continue as I cut the forehead of the next one with the jutted strings on my guitar's neck, and plunged the weight of the guitar into the stomach of the wild boy after that.

My body screamed for a break, but I couldn't do that. I had to keep going. Who knew what would happen to me if I stopped? I could be killed. No, that's not going to happen. I had a wife back home who's eight months pregnant with our first child. I had to be there for her, for us and our child. Therefore, I had to go on: whacking the arm of the next wild boy, swinging at the one after, winning at tug of war with the third creature.

"Sto-o-o-p!" My body bellowed. My shoulders' joints ached. My breathing laboured. My guitar grew heavier by about 10 grams. I swung and my arms collapsed, missing my target by millimetres. I pushed for extra oomph, but making nary a dent. One assailant laughed and slapped my face hard, sending flashing white lines across my eyes and pulsating pain across my cheekbones. 

I lifted the guitar to strike back, only to be surprised by the guitar's weight gain by another 50 kilograms. Another 20 grams got added onto my shoulders and forearms. I heaved the guitar upward but my arms could only go at a centimetre. Perspiration drenched on my face. My vision blurred. Black dots swam across my eyes. My face fell forward.

My head thrusted back as the assailant tugged at my hair and peered into my face. Feebly, I lifted my hand and managed to claw him. The foe spat at me. My neck gave way, and my head collapsed. My breathing sped and my heart sprinted, but propelling the rest of me to disappear.

Gibberish voices surrounded me. 

A slap burned my cheeks again, but I couldn't move with the weight of exhaustion. Click, I heard several times. Chains slid off me. My guitar strap got lifted off. I fell limply into the creatures' arms as they carried me away.

"No," I moaned. "H-e-e-e-lp," I barely managed to say.


	16. The Drummer

The jet pack shimmied as the engine sputtered. With a fright, I plunged three metres. I frantically clicked the button, desperately trying to keep the vehicle moving so as to not crash. The engine wheezed like a sick man on a coughing fit. I pushed on the handle at an upward angle to encourage the jet pack to rise.

I fluttered over a lagoon and encountered a lift with perpendicular bars for walls at an end of a t-intersection. Through the bars, I saw a figurehead's back. Chains bounded that statue to a man with wild black hair who had managed to free his arms in time to duke it out against several feral men. Each took his turn grabbing Andy who fiercely swung back with his guitar. However, the onslaughts were relentless. Although Andy was an excellent fighter with strong street smarts (You should hear of some of his fight stories back in Newcastle.), he was outnumbered.

I sped to the creature closest to me and kicked him as my jet pack zipped past. I doubled around and charged towards him again, ignoring the engine's protest. He turned away from Andy but grabbed my foot. I swung my leg, and he dangled off the ground with his grip grabbing ever more tightly. I used my other foot to hoist him off. He fell but another wild boy grabbed my shoulder and lurched me back. The motor on my jet pack roared as I struggled against the tug of war. My foot smacked the ground, sending waves of sharp pain piercing through my ankle. I winced as the jet pack shot me upwards. I heard a snag and looked up to find the jet pack tangled on the lines of a hot air balloon. I attempted to steer it free to no avail. I reached my right arm up to untangle the lines only to be forced to rapidly return my hand to the handlebar because the jet pack tilted. A wild boy grabbed my ankle to make me tilt more. I closed my eyes against a sharp pain that intensified with the feral's grip. Gravity pulled me as I clutched the handlebars to keep from falling off. Below me was a 15-metre drop to hard concrete.

I looked over at Andy whose torso slumped in exhaustion and the strikes he threw grew weaker. I twisted ferociously in vain to free the jet pack from the balloon, miffed that I failed Andy by stupidly having gotten myself tangled with the balloon.


	17. The Front Man

A glacier cut across my scalp, awaking me. I looked up to see a body of icy water as the culprit as the room moved from upside down to right-side up. I lifted my torso. Great, I thought with sarcasm. I was buckled down on a wooden panel that's spinning me round. I arched my knees but only slightly as my ankles were bound. Freezing water dripped down my face. Down I go with the next rotation.

I gasped at the next dip into the icy chill; this time the sub-zero liquid crossed my forehead. There must be a way out. I strained my right arm towards the side of the panel, brushing my fingers in search of a lever or a button that would stop this psychotic machine. I stiffened at the next dip, the water rubbing across my eyebrows. Uh-oh, I was in trouble now. I needed to hurry before the windmill submerged my entire head into the water. I tried the left side and groaned in frustration. Water pierced my eyes with the next dip. I stretched my left hand along the side of the panel. The next dip sent stinging water gushing into my sinuses. I coughed vigorously as the windmill ascended. I tried reaching down the right side. The dip moved to my mouth, spilling the foul-tasting liquid down my throat. I spat and coughed some more. Undaunted, I continued until finally there it was: a protrusion! I felt around the protrusion, first running my fingers over it in search of a lever I could flip back. Finding none, I pushed down on the protrusion. Suddenly, I fell into the lagoon.

I swam towards the shore only to hear a monstrous roar behind me. I turned to the horrific sight of a large fish with skin like a beluga whale and teeth like a piranha. Alarmed, I darted but the sea monster grabbed my arms with fins that worked like fingers. I writhed within the grip and kicked at the monster.

A cheerful laugh accompanied the fight. Out of peripheral vision, I noticed a slimy white, mutant male in loincloths sadistically rooting for my attacker. What Gaul! I strained at reaching the man-creature's ankle. Wrapping my fingers around it, I jerked the bipedal mutant into the water. The sea monster released its grip on me and a harrowing slithery scream from the humanoid belted into my ear. After hoisting onto dry ground, I collapsed.


	18. The Keyboard Player

Vehemently, I shook the bars on the cage. "What are you doing to him?" I roared. "Stop it!"

I jumped back all of a sudden when a wild boy sailed over my head. I backed up at the sight of the second wild boy soaring in the opposite direction. What were they doing? I cowered when the third jumped on the side of the cage. Then seven more joined in as they all surrounded me. With fierce clutches, three of the beasts clung to the bars and gyrated sensually like the dancers on our "Union of the Snake" video. One aimed a steel rod towards my bollocks. I made a grab at it, only to be met with puncturing claws cross my hand. Using my other hand, I tugged at the rod. The wild boy and I wrestled for the metal stick. Finally, I got it away from him and swung the cylindrical bar over his head.

"Get off the cage!" I ordered in rage. Using the rod, I jabbed at the assailant to my right. I bunted the wild boy in front of me. I kicked the fingers of the one behind me.

Pained hisses roared with each hit. Good, I was getting somewhere.

I continued attacking with the rod until each of the feral aliens dropped off the cage.

"Johnny?" I projected my voice towards the car approximately 2 kilometres from me. "Talk to me, man. Are you all right? What are they doing to you?"

Loud bangs and thumps answered.

"JT? Can you hear me? 

Bang. Boom. A frustrated wail.

"John? Listen to me. Hang on, okay? We're going to get you out." I scanned round me. Where were the rest of my bandmates?

"Backup is coming," I promised. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I would. That was one thing I could guarantee. In all the years I have known John, I have never let my friend down--and I was not about to start now.


	19. The Front Man

I shivered violently after the swim in the frosty lagoon, the strain pressing hard against each of my muscles. I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing, the only strength I had left to do: out, in, exhale, inhale, through the nose, out of the mouth.

Come on, Charlie, get it together. You've been through worse. What about the time you flew down the Alps on your ATV only to fall and got run over by the sport vehicle? This was no different. You just swam past a lagoon with a man-eating fish monster! Just wait until Yasmin hears that story. Catch your breath and get on with it.

I opened my eyes to red bricks across the pavement. Pushing on my hands, I rose. I staggered a few steps towards a wooden strip that crossed perpendicular to the brick path.

Swoosh! I jumped at the sound, just in time to dodge flames shooting up from cracks in the pavement. I shuffled on. Swoosh! There went another fiery geyser. I continued shuffling down the walkway, dodging inferno shots, as the path led me away from the torturous windmill.

I veered right into the wooden path and completed a block or two before a mutant jumped out of the water at me. I raised my hand to slap the creature, motivating the feral to sink back into the water.

I passed a lift with prison bars as walls to find a dark-haired man slump over like a deflated balloon. His body hung limply on the arms of mutant hordes. Chains and harnesses dangled over a figurehead. His feet dragged on the ground lifelessly as they appeared to be taking him to a second crime scene.


	20. The Electric Guitarist

My feet dragged on the ground as if they had lost their abilities to stand. I tilted my neck only for my head to plop. I raised my hand and managed to grab a piece of clothing. My fingers slid off, leaving my arms to dangle. Fatigue cradled every bone in my body. Black dots loomed before my eyes, pulsating like a throbbing headache. I continued to be carried towards who knew where. And what would happen once I got there? 

"Andy!" I thought I heard. My name sounded far away, as if the voice belonged to someone on the other end of a sports stadium as he called out to his son. I must be delirious, hallucinating. I know I'm nowhere near a soccer game.

Thundering feet charged towards me. Great, just what I needed. More people to take me away for some malevolent purpose. I stiffened in dreaded anticipation.

"Let him go!" A swift breeze flew over me. A shoving thud resonated above, my body jerked, and I slid to the ground. Cold tiles greeted my left cheek, and momentum rolled me until I was face down. I opened my eyes to a wild boy dressed differently than the rest with fair hair instead of feathers and trousers instead of a loincloth. The weight of exhaustion sat on me. I fought this sensation of fading away into nothingness.


	21. The Lead Singer

I lunged at the wild boy carrying Andy's legs. The impact caused the creature to release his grip on Andy. I banged the assailant's head onto the ground repeatedly until the wild boy slumped his head and moved no more. I looked up and saw the other wild boy was a few metres ahead, dragging Andy's feet along the ground. I raced towards Andy and tackled the wild boy like an American football quarterback. The wild boy fell back, dropping Andy's arms. I wrestled the monster.

"Charlie!" I heard Roger's mild-mannered voice.

I rolled the guy over as I continued wrestling. Finally, I threw my fist as hard as I could against the creature's neck. The wild boy gasped with a horrible cry and then stopped breathing, leaving his gaping mouth opened.

I turned to Andy's slumped body. "You all right?"

Face down, he faintly waved his arm as if to tell me to leave him be. However, as a former hospital porter, I just had to ask: "Can you sit up, man?" I slipped one hand behind his scapula to guide him up.

With great effort, Andy slowly pushed himself up, grunting as he did so. 

I noticed thick red lines wrapped around both of his biceps, and cherry-colored interlocking ovals around both of his wrists.

"Gawwwwwwwd," he moaned as he rose. He had one hand over his stomach as he sat up. He slumped his head limply on his other hand, his eyes closed and his face grimaced in pain.

I ripped his tucked-in shirt out of his jeans to inspect his torso. Large, dark, angular decagons speckled his abdomen. Smaller, irregular polygons dotted his upper chest and shoulders. Were there internal bleedings too?

"Sleeeeeeeeeeep," he breathed out with much effort.

"Yeah, sure," I replied quietly, perturbed at what those monsters did to him. It was a good sign that he was able to hoist up by himself: indication of no broken arms or spinal injuries. Gingerly, I put both of my hands under his armpits and gently tugged them upward. He lifted up, not wincing in pain this time. That was another good sign: no shoulder fractures. He scooted his foot back and plopped his back against me. Cool, there seemed to be no broken legs. I dragged him to the side of the figurehead and laid him down.

We're going to have to cancel the rest of our tour once we get out of here. Andy definitely needed to be hospitalised. He might not be the only one.

Spotting Roger hanging at the end of a hot air balloon, I ran over. I noticed Roger's eyes widen as his body jerked forward, propelled by the ferocious tug, before Roger tightened his grip on the handlebar to keep from falling. Roger kept trying to kick them off and away, but he was outnumbered. I picked up a two-by-four I found several metres away and swung at the first assailant grabbing Roger's right leg. Suddenly, Roger fell off the jet pack and landed on both of his assailants with such force that he must have done so on purpose. Kneeling on them, Roger pushed both of the wild boys' heads onto the ground as if he wanted them to go through the tile. He hit the back of one of the wild boys' head, then the other. Both stopped moving.

"Never knew you had it in you," I said as I grinned.

"Yeah, well," Roger began sheepishly but stopped talking as he noticed Andy's unmoving body. 

"Andy?" Roger asked in alarm. He raced over to the guitarist. I followed.

A grouchy moan shot up from our friend. "Immmmmmmmm," he droned out breathlessly. "Fi-i-i-i-ine."

"Where are Nick and JT?" I asked as I looked both ways.

"Don't know," Roger answered.

I looked at Andy, then looked away. I had to go find Nick and Johnny, but I couldn't leave Andy.

"Go find Nick and JT," Roger assured. "I'll look after Andy here." 

"You sure?" I asked.

"Don't worry about me. Just go."

I took off in search of the founding members.


	22. The Drummer

I looked at my friend, his tangled mop of raven hair facing me. I had my second chance. I could not mess this up again. I sank on the floor next to Andy, our experience still fresh on my mind. I didn't know I had it in me either. I just got mad all of a sudden.

I froze at the detection of more sibilant hisses. I rose and picked up two metal rods lying beside the lift, gripping them on my hands as if I was about to drum.

Without thinking, I put my left leg forward as I put my weight on it. Automatically using muscle memory, I began striking their chests as if they were Zen Daiko drums. I was surprised the blocking came back so easily. I hadn't played Zen Daiko since last year's show in Japan when this giggly pigtailed schoolgirl taught me. Yuriko, I think that was her name. I suppose it was like riding a bike: once you learn, you never forget.

A wild boy grabbed my stick, and I was on another round of tug-of-war. He jerked his arm back, and I fell. Undaunted, I kicked at him as my scalp stung with a second wild boy pulling my hair. Using my free hand, I swung at his knee, causing the wild boy to fall. Once he was down, I kept clobbering his head as if I was playing a vivace, ignoring the pain in my scalp. He inadvertently dropped my stick, and I struck the other wild boy's shoulder with it as if I was hitting a cymbal. The wild boy with his fist full of my hair collapsed, releasing his grip. I beat his face, as if he had become a Zen Daiko drum once again until he fell back.

I sank to the floor to catch my breath.


	23. The Keyboardist

"Shit, this is too flimsy." I threw down the wire and returned to picking at the spokes in the disc. I tugged the spokes upward and delighted at finding a 25-millimetre screw inside. Locating the keyhole behind the bars, I pushed the screw. The crew's pointed tip was too fat to squeeze in between the grooves. I tossed it.

I next happened upon a very tiny screwdriver, it's flathead about 0.1 metre. It was the kind of screwdriver Johnny would carry for last-minute fixes on his glasses when he didn't have his contacts with him.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" echoed John's voice. I looked up in the direction of the scream and continued.

"Hang in there, Johnny," I muttered as if my utterances were enough to give him the strength.

Taking the screwdriver to the plate, I tried inserting this next tool. The tip slid in part of the hole below the tiny perpendicular metal sheet in the lock.i jiggled the screwdriver until it landed against a groove. I pushed against the obstacle, adding elbow grease in various attempts to move the groove.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" John sounded like he was in pain.

I heard metal slide inside. "Yes!" I threw my fists in the air in triumph. "Coming, Johnny!" I called as I fiddled with the lock.

Then suddenly, I retracted my hand in pain. I glanced down to discover the offender: a metal ball with a diameter of a baseball. I backed up the sight of a wild boy looming towards me. My uninjured hand converged onto a prison bar parallel to the lock. I watched as the wild boy reached the plate and inspected the lock. Dismay fell over me. This animal could not undo the progress I had just made. I felt around the bar like a blind person in search of a weapon.

The wild boy pulled open the door and entered. The wild boy and I circled each other in a predator-prey dance. I studied him. Would I be able to run past him? Should I chance it?

Suddenly, he jerked back and lost his balance. A dark grey igneous rock rolled off his torso as he fell. I looked behind me and saw an albino-skinned creature ducking quickly behind a scaffold.

I darted but claws encircled my right ankle and I tumbled. Then the fight for our lives began. I wrestled him in an attempt to free myself.

An agonized ear-piercing hiss bellowed into my ears. Instinctively, I put my hand to my ears to lower its impact. The move would have given him an advantage had it not been for his claws being painfully yanked back as he screamed. I then noticed my ally: the same female who had slipped me the disc. She was now clinging onto his back and biting onto his arms to tear him off me.

My ally jumped off, grabbed my hand, and ran. 

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw," I heard him hissing behind us as we ran. We raced through concrete flooring past more scaffolds and other wild boys gyrating on bars like sex-crazed monkeys on trees. They looked up as we passed, several of whom decided to join in on the chase.

All of a sudden, my body jerked 90 degrees to my left. I looked up to find a closed wall curtain with ridges like accordions that folded back when opened. We headed behind it, and my ally picked up another rock and hurled it as far right as possible. Her diversion trick worked as I heard thundering feet puttering away from us.

Once we extinguished our little fire, I noticed the indecency of my ally. "Good gawd, woman, have you no modesty," I said as I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her. 

An enraged "Fuck you" interrupted us. I turned my head to the direction of the pejorative to the sight of bloodied-and-bruised-faced John tied spread-eagled on the roof of a derelict Mercedes on its rear bumper. He laid stiffened against the roof as a wild boy hoisted with one claw a pocket knife blade toward John's carotid artery and a second claw unbuckling John's belt.

"Hey, scumbag!" I yelled as I charged at the perpetrator. My tackle threw him to the ground, taking the blade away from John's neck. I pinned both arms down and sat on him as my ally wrestled the knife away. John's assailant jolted his hip upward in an attempt to throw me off. Once or twice he almost succeeded.

"Yes!" I cheered as she got the knife away from him. John's assailant struggled to break free from me.

"Uh, Nick?" John flattened against the Mercedes once again. 

"It's okay, JT, she's an ally,"

John chuckled nervously, "Are you sure?"

She was thrown back before I could answer.

"Charlie!" I called, then I was thrown back. The wild boy pounced on me, pinning me down. My throat constricted; he grabbed my throat.

"She's...an...ally," I croaked, my hand wrapped around the feral's wrist. The wild boy's eyes bulged. He stiffened and let out a hissing gasp before landing on top of me. I rolled him off me and discovered the knife impaled on his back. 

I touched the shoulder of the ally who was standing on her knees. "Are you all right?" Charlie stood 2 metres away. 

To my surprise, she nodded. 

"Hey, did you see that?" I turned to my bandmates excitedly. I turned to her. "Then you can speak English."

She shook her head.

"No?" I asked in befuddlement.


	24. The Wild Girl

"Charlie, do you have pen and paper on you?" Nick asked after looking around.

The lead singer padded his jacket pockets after having untied John's hands. He handed the wild girl a Biro pen and a small notepad, about 90 cm x 120 cm, with spirals on top. He then went about helping John free his legs. "Who are you?"

"Chay-see," I managed to hiss out. God, I hated my voice. I couldn't even say my name right.

"Chay-See?" The puffy-haired keyboardist ruminated over the pronunciation."I don't like it. How about I call you Chelsea?"

I rolled my eyes. I flipped over the cover of the notepad and scribbled inside.

"Nick, stop," John said brightly, slapping his shoulder. "If her name is Chasey, then let it be Chasey."

I tore a page off and handed it to Nick. Glad I could still write. My letters was like that of a three-year-old: large and uneven--but hey, at least we can communicate.

John and Simon leaned in to read the note.

"Ha!" Nick shouted, turning to John with a triumphant grin. "It _is_ Chelsea."

"Chelsea, where are we?" Simon asked.

I scribbled more and tore off a page. **_Dr. D's makeshift warehouse under the stage._**

Nick furrowed his eyebrows. "Dr. D?"

**_Dr. Durand Durand. Mad scientist from the planet Tau Ceti._ **

The cute bassist shook his head. "Wait. What?"

**_A planet about 12 light years away from the Solar System._ **

"Is that where you're from?" John asked.

**_I Am From Earth, I Was Human Like You._ **

"I don't believe it," Simon commented. He reminded me of the tone he used as he uttered the same line on the "New Moon on Monday" video.

 _WAS Human,_  I wrote and ripped another page off.

Human. A person. A girl. In two years, I would graduate high school and go to the university. Now look at me. I'm hideous, a monster. I couldn't return to school like this. I looked at John and eyed his teased bangs and his nice cheekbones. He was smoldering hot, and I almost got a chance to be friends with him. I blinked the tears away and scribbled **_You don't recognize me, John Taylor? :-(_**

Behind his bangs, John's eyebrows bunched in confusion. He turned to meet the stares of his two bandmates.

_**Intermission. Backstage. After Save A Prayer.** _

"That was you?" John exclaimed. He turned to the other two. "See? I told you there had been a girl backstage." Then his face turned serious as he looked at me. "But wait. What happened to you?" His hand swept a half-circle mid-air. "So, were these creatures human, too?"

**_Don't know. They were like that when I arrived. Feral. Wild. Promiscuous. They turned me into this beast._ **

I began scribbling furiously as I recounted how I came to be.


	25. The Ally (Flashback to the Show)

"Here for the meet and greet?" A dark-haired man in glasses approached me. "I'm Fred Kragen," he said as he offered his hand. He was old, very old, like about 35 or so. He sported a worried face with an electronic headphone over one ear and a clipboard in his hand. Blue plaid, jeans, and Nikes completed his ensemble. 

I shook his hand. "Chelsea Wilder," I beamed. Oh my god, oh my god. I have won a chance meeting with Duran Duran! Woo-hoo! Simon! Nick! Roger! Andy! And the cutest one of them all-- John Taylor! 

"This way, please." He had one hand on my waist as he slightly pushed me forward, and I proceeded in the direction his other hand pointed. We exited out the door and around the corner. We traversed through a backstage area of hallways and office doors similar to the corridors of the theater building at my school.

A huge smile fixed on my face. I mean how many people get to be in the same backstage area as John, Nick, and Simon!

We climbed up a stairwell and exited the door to turn right. Soon light greeted me as we merged to an illuminated hallway with further rows of wooden office doors on either side of me. Finally, we stepped into the last door on the left of the cul-de-sac.

"Wait here," Fred said and left.

I folded both hands in a half-arc over my mouth. "Ok, calm down. Calm down," I told myself. I didn't want to make a fool of myself by screaming and balling. I strolled outside and took a deep breath. "Ok, be cool. Just be cool."

"Hi." I looked up at the greeting to see a talk attractive man with blond highlights on the bangs of his brown mullet. I wanted to jump out of my skin and scream. Oh my god, that was John Taylor! And he said hi to ME!!! But I tensed the ends of my lips to keep from smiling too big and appearing inappropriately over-excited.

A whir like that of a vacuum startled me. My feet lifted off the ground. I screamed in terror as I was sucked into a void. 

Metal bars descended in front of my face, as I thudded on my butt. I rose to my knees and clasped my fingers around the bars.My surroundings swung as I was in a vacillating cage inside a dark, dank, warehouse. The room wreaked of sweaty athletes who had left their stench to bake inside stilted air for weeks. 

"Hisssssssssssss!" I looked up and screamed at the sight of pale monstrous people with snake tongues and lizard tails surrounding me. I backed away, moaning in fear. Several of them jumped onto the cage and was swinging my cell. My prison tilted and I slid into a prick of a needle.

"I Chaz," one of them hissed as it retracted a hypodermic needle. It giddied and hopped away like a mischievous prankster.

Suddenly the room whirled, and I felt like throwing up. I grabbed my head with one hand and covered my stomach in another. Air surged from my gut. My mouth instinctively opened, and to my alarm, I vomited flame. 

"


	26. The Maniacal Villain

Shit! Why are people always messing up my plan? First it was Barbara Ella who fried the wires on my Excessive Machine, then the lead singer escaped that deadly jungle! How was that even possible? So I had to take the girl to lure the guys into capture, but then that S.O.B. Kragen messed up my plan--again! Why did he have to get the guys back on stage after intermission? The show did not have to go on!

I fumed as I recalled planning the nefarious plots with the Wild Boys.

_"Couldn't get Chelsea, eh?" I grinned as I staggered on my 4 stilts: 2 for my arms and 2 for my legs._

_The wild boys stopped heaving and set the derelict Mercedes. They grunted with sibilant hisses. One set the palms of his claws on the bottom of the front bumper and hoisted it._

_Putting weight on my arm, I continued. "Too many on her? No room for you guys? That's too bad."_

_A second wild boy picked another side of the bumper and tugged it upward with all of his might. The car lifted. The wild boy changed hand position to get a better grip, and the car dropped on all fours. He and the other wild boy moaned in frustration._

_"Wanna get back at her?" I beamed. I shifted my weight to my legs. "Go after what she likes." I strolled to the TV angling to the right of the car and clicked the remote. There on the screen was the fair-haired endomorph, turning his torso to the left followed by rapidly twisting to the right as he sang, "The wild boys are calling from their way back from the fire." I turned to the wild boys. "They're playing your song," I added with a grin._

_One wild boy grunted and shot his tongue out, hissing in protest._

_"_ _With August moon surrenders to and dust cloud on the rise," the singer on the TV continued._

_"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" the second wild boy gutted. The vehicle lifted 10 centimetres._

_A mane of raven black hair fell over a man's face as he rocked his head forward. "That's the guitarist," I revealed, gesturing the figure on screen._

_Another fair-haired guy with eyeliners and lip gloss shimmied his shoulders. "He operates the keyboard and the synthesizer."_

_"Wild boys," sang a lanky guy with a brown mullet as he rocked right and left._

_"That's the bassist," I continued._

_The wild boys' grunts grew louder as they jumped excitedly._

_"You like the bass player, huh?"_

_More excited hisses. "Uhhhhhhhhh!" The grunts ensued, followed by hissing that gave the wild boys extra oomph for the vehicle. The vehicle tilted at a 20-degree angle before returning on all four tires._

_"Good. You get to have your way with him." I donned a malicious smile._

_The wild boys cheered and clapped as they jumped excitedly once more._

_"But you'll have to take care of the others as well."_

Back to the present, I slammed my fist at the panel wall at the thought of those last five words: take care of the others. "Ugh, my incompetents!" Fed up, I switched off the screen and threw the remote in anger. I rolled the chair towards my stilts. Once there, I strapped the wristbands and tied on the ankle braces.

"Uhhhhhhhh!" I groaned as I hoisted myself up. Because of everyone, I had to use elbow grease just to stand up.

I shuffled out of the office, but believe me, I was not soft-footed. Mechanical roars exhaled with each step. It was now time for me to take care of the band members myself.


	27. The Drummer

"Can. Start. It." I turned to Andy upon hearing his offer. I traced his range of sight to a grayish-green jeep 15 metres from us.

"You. Drive." he breathed out with much effort.

"Sure?" I answered, trying to catch my breath myself after my little impromptu drumming with the Wild Boys. "Are you okay, man?"

"Yeah. Never. Been. Better."

"Man, you can barely talk," I pointed out upon seeing the strain on his face as he pushed against the scaffold to stand.

"I'm Fine." Annoyance colored his tone.

"If you say so," I answered. I pulled him up and with one arm over my shoulder, we staggered towards the jeep. I opened the jeep's bonnet, but my heart paced when his knees buckled. I made a grab for his arm.

"I'm. Okay," he declared, waving his hand against my offer to help him.

Hoisting his weight with both hands, Andy peered into the bonnet. He rubbed his forehead and eyes as if the action would obliterate the fatigue coursing through his veins.

"Look what we have here!" I suddenly turned to the sound of a booming contemptuous voice. Towering over me was a large moustached man in his fifties. "We've got two of the phony Durands Durands," he bellowed as he supported his weight on stilts that were taller than I was. Perhaps even taller than John. 

Without thinking, I stepped back. "Who are you?"

"That. Asshole...Accosted. Us. On. Stage," Andy replied with bated breath. "What. You. Want?"

I reached my hand out to him to help.

"No. Leave. Me. Alone." he said as he torqued away.

"Oh, I'll leave you alone, all right," the giant man taunted. "after you die." 

Flames shot out of his mouth at me. I dove to the side, hitting my palms on a nearby wall as the heat singed over my head.

"Very good," he clapped mockingly. "I bet the guitar hero won't do as well." He opened his mouth again.

I charged towards one of the stilts to knock him over. As the giant man tumbled, flames shot upward like a surging torch. His eyes flashed ire upon rising. I made a grab at the fallen stilt. The stilt's temperature rocketed to a scorching Celsius, making me drop the burning column. He crawled towards me.


	28. The Band

Roger scooted back from the towering menace. Instinctively, Roger crossed his arms over his face and tucked in his head as Dr. D loomed over him. He shut his eyes tight, his body taut in fearful anticipation of a painful blow he was sure was coming. 

"F-u-u-u-ck!" He heard the frustrated cuss from Andy whose legs had buckled in betrayal as Andy tried to step in and help. 

"Roger!" He whipped his head around at another voice calling his name.

Dr. D turned also. Running towards them was a tall, lanky figure of a man, his mullet waving atop his forehead while the ends bounced on his shoulders. A metre behind followed a rounder bloke of the same height. Struggling to keep up ran a blond guy with big hair and bling on his jacket. A grotesque creature ran alongside him.

"Well, well, well," Dr. D declared, sneering. "Now the gang's all here."

"Yeah, and we're going to take care of you now," Simon announced as the tall bass player bent over to catch his breath.

"What is your problem?" The band's controller keyboardist raged. "Why did you interfere with the show?"

"YOU'RE my problem!" Dr. D shouted as he jabbed at the air with an attack meant for Nick. "I am the REAL Durand Durand!" His roar reverberated across the room, surely to shatter any precarious glass nearby.

"Get over yourself," John shot back.

"The cries from the audience should have been for me, not you." Derision flavored his tone. "I am the great scientist Dr. Durand Durand. I have brought pleasure to the world! What do you five bring? Noise!"

"Couldn't you just let go of the name?" Nick replied with a disgusted scowl. "Duran isn't copyrighted, you know. Just like Taylor. He's a Taylor, he's a Taylor, and he's a Taylor." He pointed to John, Roger, and Andy.

"Silence!" Dr. D bellowed with the reverberating roar. "Feel the power of the Matmos."

"The what?" Roger asked as he rose. He took a step back after seeing Dr. D emptying yellow ooze out of a vile into the floor, the color and viscosity of which were similar to the flying flames Roger had seen during their Planet Earth number. His eyes widened as gigantic revolving bubbles percolated on the surface of the sludge. The bubbles multiplied and spread like dishwashing soap.

"Alarmed? Good," the adversary declared. "The Matmos gets its energy from that."

"What is that?" John repeated the inquiry as the ooze headed towards him.

"The Matmos is an evil monster from a seething underground lake in Sogo. It's malevolent but intelligent."

John hopped onto a scaffold. The liquid monster squirmed past him and headed straight towards Andy.

"Oh no," Andy groaned as he used the jeep's door handle to hoist himself up. He staggered back, using the handle as a crutch.

"You, Guitar Warrior! Running out of strength? Let the Matmos sap the rest of it." Dr. D scooped a handful of ooze and flung it towards Andy who flinched.

"You keep that away from me," Andy demanded as he rounded the jeep and missed the splash. He stumbled and grabbed onto the vehicle's side. Simon reached him and pulled him away from the creeping viscous. The ooze followed them. The splashed ooze coagulated to join the chase. Roger grabbed the stick he had used as a makeshift Daiko drumstick and swept the gunk away from his two band friends. Nick grabbed a broom and swooshed away more of the slime.

"No need to fight," the maniac teased. "There's enough Matmos for all of you."

"Why are you doing this?" John asked as he scanned the area for a 2x4 to block the virulent ooze.

"You, Pinup Boy," he pointed at John. "Why weren't you raped and slashed?"

"What?" John's voice rose an octave. He composed himself after spotting a 2x4. He looked at Nick, then Chelsea. "I have people on my side, unlike the losers you have with the Wild Boys," he replied, his tone sounding like the heroic knight.

Dr. D's eyes narrowed in hate before aiming his finger at Roger. "You, Little Drummer Boy. Why didn't you die from a cracked skull?" 

Roger's eyebrows pinched in anger and golf-swung the Matmos at Dr. D. The drummer rolled his eyes after the ooze missed. 

Dr. D then fingered Nick. "You, Pixie Dude, was supposed to be a feast for my feral friends." 

Nick flashed his middle finger and continued brushing away the ooze.

"And you, Dear Singer, didn't drown at the lagoon!" 

"Get over it. Sometimes plans don't work out. Quit crying like a baby." 

The maniacal doctor slowly turned his head towards the wild girl he seemed to have just noticed. "My Pretty-Pretty Princess," he taunted as he advanced to her as she retreated. "You were beautiful like my Barbarella." 

Nick moved to intercept. 

The doctor cupped her chin before Nick could come between them. Chelsea squirmed as the doctor held her by the shoulder with his other hand. "Oh, don't be scared, my dear. You got to meet your pop stars." She moaned fearfully as she twisted to break free.

"Get your hands off her," John demanded as he stepped forward,

"Don't say a prayer for her now," Dr. D began, sarcastically mocking the lyrics to the band's most popular ballad. "Save it 'till the morning after." Briskly, he threw her into the Matmos.

John's jaw dropped. Chelsea shrill cry was ear-piercing. Roger turned his head away, too horrified to look. 

"Chelsea!" Nick screamed, swinging his hand to grab her before she went into the Matmos but missed. He stomped his right foot in a sudden halt as the viscous ooze crept towards him. He plopped the broom down between himself and the ooze. The Matmos seeped through the bristles like water filling up a sponge. It inched up the broom's handle. Nick jumped back and dropped the broom.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" John shouted. He lunged at the demented scientist and socked him, causing the insane fiend to lose his balance and falter. "This is a fight between you and us. She's got nothing to do with this. None."

The wide-eyed crazy man rose and spewed fire like a dragon. He aimed the fiery breath at John who hit the ground. "She got the pixie out," he shot back, sending an inferno at Nick. "She betrayed her people." Dr. D chased the two originators with his fire. Both ran, dodging each fiery aspirations.

Simon's eyes met Andy's. He nodded with what little fight he still had in him and stealthily lifted the vehicle's bonnet. He peered in, his hands in the engine. Roger snuck in the driver seat.

John came across a garden hose. Nick traced the hose to a faucet and looked to John who nodded. He pointed the hose at the giant as Nick turned on the faucet.

The jeep's engine roared to life, and Andy gave Roger a thumb's up. Simon took one look behind him and at the two Taylors. He jogged back with an idea of his own. Roger rammed the jeep against the stilts, forcing Dr. D to tumble towards the vehicle.

Simon leapt onto the monster's back and wrapped a telephone cord around the foe's neck. He crossed the two ends and pulled until a makeshift noose wrapped the unbeloved doctor's neck. The enemy writhed like Behemoth to shake Simon off; however, the front man held firm. Years of rock climbing and rappelling had prepared the lead singer for this moment. The deranged scientist gasped as if desperate for air until he sank to the ground. Simon tugged the noose.

Taking the cue, Nick scurried over and felt the carotid artery. He looked at Simon and nodded. Simon slowly released the bind. "Let's get out of here," Nick said.

Roger turned to Andy. "Can you move?" Motivated by Andy's lethargic nod, Roger ducked under Andy's arm and helped him across to John who was looking on with sadness at Chelsea. Although drenched in the Matmos, Chelsea's face morphed to a teenage girl with curly hair to her earlobes. Her tan sweater and white Ditto's mysteriously returned on her body.

"Was she the girl you saw at intermission?" Roger asked.

John nodded, gulping back tears. "Wish we could have saved her."

Simon knelt, wiped the wet ooze off her, and fingered her neck for a pulse. The Matmos stung his palm, but he ignored it. He shook his hand to fling away the ooze. "Maybe we still can," Simon offered with hope in his voice. "I know a medic who owes me a favor."


End file.
